Submerged
by Hese Solstis
Summary: "I can't let you be my Julia."
1. Chapter 1: Shallow Waters

Title: Submerged

Setting: AU Dystopian Earth (Orwellian)

Rating: M

Summary: When everything around you is controlled and governed by the government, do you live to fight another day or do you die a martyr? After all, the truth is relative.

Prompt: From the Seventh Sanctum- Depression, pundit, lies, distant nurse and professional courtesy.

Disclaimer: Fill in the blank- Bleach does _ belong to me. ;P

* * *

**Submerged**

**Chapter 1: Shallow waters**

He smashed the TV set the first week it came into his new life, didn't really need it anyway when all that it showed was what the government wanted them to see, hear, feel and know.

A replacement came within a fortnight but when that too was smashed and thrown out of the window, the higher-ups knew better than to waste their precious little resources on a nut job like him.

It just wasn't worth it.

He wasn't worth it.

Strangely enough, he was fine with that and to be perfectly honest; he didn't give a fuck about how people talked behind his back.

They all know his story.

He laughed bitterly; it was funny how one day you were on top of the hierarchy, friends with the boss and rubbing shoulders with the higher ups; thinking that you were the next big thing after Stephen Hawking and the next thing you know, you're worse than nothing.

You became the know-it-all who turned cuckoo one day and tried to kill himself.

They used him to sell their story and he was a dumb fuck who was in too deep, right until the last minute when reality caught up.

He tried to make amendments of course, contra-statements, documentaries, blogs and social media gestures; if only to make himself feel a little better and a little less guilty, but who was he kidding; they had anticipated his every move.

They had him all figured out- his contacts, his weaknesses, his properties, his reputation and his actions.

He was the little hamster caught up in their maze, thinking he was making scientific progresses for the better of mankind when the truth was that they were using him for their own perverse amusements.

The minute they figured out he was planning to turn coats, they had him arrested, discredited and certified insane.

Officially, the story was that he had been suffering from depression for decades and had decided to stop taking his meds in a sudden stroke of madness.

He tried to kill himself as a result and in view of his services and contributions to the nation and science, he was kept on the government's payroll and provided with a nurse.

Anyone with half a brain could see that this was a make-shift house arrest and his nurse was his glorified babysitter to make sure he didn't make any more attempts to connect with the other party or kill himself again.

XXX

He blinked.

It was late in the afternoon though you couldn't quite tell the time with the curtains drawn and lights dimmed.

There was nothing but silence and he felt numb; probably the aftereffects of tranquilisers, though he doubted that they would be so liberal with the meds after his failed suicide attempt.

He propped himself up, listless eyes adjusting to his surroundings. The familiar sight of his well-worn copies of Shakespeare and Crichton, his work bench buried under mountains of scattered paper and his tagged and holed idea board calmed him; he was back in his government-assigned quarters and they have not confiscated his works.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

That was when he noticed a presence to his right by his bedside.

He shifted his gaze to that direction and saw a young woman in her twenties, her face hidden behind- oddly enough, Orwell's 1984. She was dressed very neatly in a navy blue dress with a proper pair of black Oxfords- civilians' clothing but her rigid posture was a dead give-away to her military origins.

His new nurse, he decided; contemplated to ask about her predecessor, but decided that he didn't really care enough and small talks drained him.

He cleared his throat and she looked up from her book, calmly inserting a book mark before she closed her book.

She had the complexion of a china doll that belonged in his great-grandmother's antiquated china-wear collection, black hair knotted into a tight bun and her facial features were dominated by a pair of cerulean blue eyes that betrayed nothing.

He reluctantly made the introductions when it became apparent that she was not any more inclined to speak than he was.

"I am Rukia, your new carer," she replied coolly and extended her hand, it was cool to the touch; much like her personality and the handshake was brief.

Their eyes met and he realised that his first impression of her wasn't that far removed from the truth.

She was as callous and cold as they come by, didn't waste time playing nice.

"Breakfast will be served at 9 sharp, lunch at 1.30pm and dinner at 7," she continued and he raised an eyebrow, but decided not to comment. Ground rules were necessary especially for co-habitation and the food he cooked was less than edible, though he was slightly miffed at her authoritative tone.

He nodded in acquiesce and she told him to rest while she prepared dinner.

She had her hand on the doorknob when she had suddenly whirled around and said briskly, "and one more thing, it's professional courtesy not to die on your carer. I will appreciate it immensely if you try to keep yourself alive under my care."

He frowned.

"Well that depends. Are you going to follow me into the bathroom like I'm some goddamned invalid?"

She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"I would resign first thing in the morning if that were the case."

"Then, I guess we're in an agreement. Just as it would be on your part to treat me like a grown man. I'm under house arrest, not fucking retarded," he finished smoothly and she gave him an indiscernible smile on her way out.

He reached for the book on his nightstand.

_Big brother is watching, huh?_

How appropriate, he thought grimly.

* * *

XXX

It was Friday night.

She had her weekends off- a two-day break from an otherwise 24/7 job as a carer to the certified invalid, Dr. Ichigo Kurosaki.

He was a quiet man, one who didn't speak unless you badgered and prodded him with a stick. His work kept him confined either in his bedroom or study and even during meal times, she could count the number of sentences that they have spoken to each other with one hand.

Yet, he valued his independence and intelligence fiercely and from what she understood, had attempted self-suicide when this was compromised.

She gave him plenty of space, probably because it suited her just as well.

She was an aloof and reserved person by nature, wasn't in the habit of making small talks with complete strangers about the weather and wasn't even the slightest bit intrigued by other people's businesses.

She smirked; she would have made a lousy spy.

The doctor liked Shakespeare, words of the bard, flowery poetries that were sprouted from the mind of lucid dreamers, but he dealt with numbers and maths, making up complex algorithms with a flick of his wrist and treating calculations as though they were living, breathing entities that were parts of a bigger puzzle of life.

Some parts of her were inherently awed by his drive and ability to make equations into something that were much more interesting than what they should be.

She hated maths; in her life, it was only expected to be used for addition, subtraction, multiplication and division.

She didn't like to think herself as a compassionate being, soldiers who killed on the field seldom were; but she thought maybe there was a tiny part of her within that pitied the man's solitude and his need to keep himself busy before he truly loses his mind from the lack of human interaction.

She baked him a cake for today- their third month anniversary of living together, not that she would ever admit the sentimentality out loud of course, but he was nice and he cooperated.

It only seemed right to show her appreciation.

The only problem was that the man wore his pride like his skin, he didn't tolerate sympathies and no amount of professional courtesy and polite indifference could disguise it.

He came out of the showers minutes later; hair still damp and wearing his usual attire of oversized shirts and jeans, but spectacles foggy with steam.

The orange-haired scientist blinked owlishly perhaps his vision slightly blurred from the steam while she carefully took the cake out of the oven. She did not bother to spare him a second glance as she made the chocolate frosting but it soon became apparent he was still rooted to the spot.

She raised her eyebrow quizzically at him and cleared her throat.

At that point, he seemed to finally shake himself out of his stupor and awkwardly ran a hair through his damp orange hair before retreating back into his room.

Somehow, she had unwittingly heaved a sigh of relief when she heard the slight click of the door shut as he went inside his bedroom.

She much preferred to work and cook alone than being stared at.

XXX

Dinner was as usual, a sordid affair for both of them. She was rather surprised that he wanted to join her for dinner that night, since sometimes he wouldn't even bother leaving his work bench for food and preferred to have his dinner delivered right to his study.

Sitting opposite from one another, she spied him playing around with his peas and wondered briefly if it was because he disliked them or was it because he was still thinking about some complex mathematical theorems.

She did not put it above him.

After all, there was an incident two weeks ago, where he had thrown all his worn clothes into the garbage bag thinking that it was the laundry basket and the week before that, where he had left the gas stove on while he was making supper for himself because he had a 'eureka' moment.

He was an absent-minded man that needed others to clean up after him because common sense was deemed less important than equations and algorithms in his head.

The man stood up to clear the table after she left.

It was his unwritten code- never leaving the table until she made the first move to do so. Perhaps it was one of his weird and self-designated manners that he thought would be respectful, Rukia didn't really mind.

"So, did you finish your book?"

She almost dropped the plate she was washing. This had to be the first time that he voluntarily spoke to her about something utterly unimportant- he was making small talks.

She closed the tap. "Yeah, it was interesting," she replied; somewhat uncertain about how to continue this random conversation.

She thought about treating him like Renji, who she would meet up regularly and just talk about the various new developments (barring the government-sensitive stuff) in their respective lives, but then again she remembered that half the times Renji hadn't even heard of the books she mentioned, let alone have a meaningful conversation about them.

She pursed her lips.

He snorted. "Well, I didn't think that you of all people would actually read it, much less find it interesting. After all, freedom of thoughts and ideas, much less reading is frown upon by them these days. I am actually surprised they let you own the book to begin with."

She froze. Ah, how could she forget, how could she miss the old bitter man hidden underneath it all.

"The war was over a long time ago, Ichigo."

He gave another loud forceful laugh. "**OVER**?! That's what they want you to think."

He dragged her to the window, forcefully exposing the blinds; out of the rain-streaked window, they both saw nothing; heard nothing but the pitter-patter of the rain. His grip on her sud-filled intensified and the penetrating gaze he focused on her was sharp enough to go through her like a beam of laser.

"You're a Thought Police, aren't you?"

She shook her head. Part of her was inclined to tell him the truth that the war was over, been over for years; she should know. She was there on the frontlines, watching in hopelessness as the bullets and shrapnel fell upon unsuspecting soldiers, burying deep beneath their skin and skulls.

She was a survivor- made it out of the hell-hole with Renji and a handful of others, some still on active duty.

And none of it would have been possible if it hadn't been for him.

She peered at him with something akin to pity.

This brilliant man would never know what he had done, the contributions he made to achieve to bring back an era of peace, delivering the God-given right for freedom for speech and thoughts back to the people.

He was a hero, in the purest and truest sense of the world.

Without him, the Rebels would have never been able to come up with technological advances powerful enough to rival those of the Government.

Without him, there would be no victory for the Rebels, much less the gift of literacy, equality and freedom for the public.

Without him acting as their informant/insider, they would have never been able to strike the defining blow to the Government, crushing them and their agenda once and for all.

Yet in that pivotal moment, he had not been part of the victory.

No, he had been left behind enemy lines; tortured in such a way that though he would still be the brilliant scientist he was, his mind was shattered beyond repair.

Ishida had taken a look at his psyche and for the first time ever, the stoic man had cried.

His mind was stuck during that dark phase in history, when he was first approached by the Government to join the Think Tank and the what-if world that he had conjured up as a self-protecting mechanism where the Government had won and everyone was a pawn to the dictatorship.

What good would the truth do to him?

She doubted his pride and sanity could take another blow like that, to make him doubt his own existence and role in the war was a cruel treatment to a war-hero.

So, she kept her silence and offered to compromise.

"Would you like to have some cake?"

But that just agitated him more so than any careless statement ever would, something that Rukia learnt the hard way as he turned violent.

"I don't want the _fucking _cake!" he bellowed; eyes wild and she thought, he looked as if he might snap if she weren't carefully.

"You just don't _fucking _get it!" he screamed again and she wrangled free of his grip, retreating away from him. She knew the look in those wild eyes and it got her adrenaline pumping.

Without skipping a beat, she reached for the stun gun he had strapped on her thigh holster.

He looked at her in disgust, like she was the scum of the earth; unworthy of even his anger. "So," he gritted his teeth, "you're in league with them."

She shook her head and told him, "It's not what you think, Ichigo."

Yet the brilliant man merely guffawed and she fired. She got him right in the chest, watching as he slumped forward and collapsed on to the tiled floor.

She ignored his pained look, knowing full-well she was powerless to help him. He was a victim of his own mind.

Her heart still pounding, she pressed the red button on the house phone.

_Agent 14, what it your code red emergency situation?_

"Boss down. Relapse. Contact the psychs," she commanded sharply.

_Roger that._

Lieutenant Rukia of the 13th Division cursed.

This was his fourth relapse after the failed suicide attempt and she thought not for the first time, that personally a proud man like Ichigo Kurosaki deserved a swift end than this never-ending misery.

* * *

**Hese's Corner:**

What is the truth?

Who is telling the truth?

Rukia/Ichigo… I'm taking bets. XD It's all for a good cause of course, since Hese's birthday is coming up on the 9th. Mind of a mad hatter, manners of sloth- of which, I make no excuses for myself.

I seriously recommend Orwell, especially Animal Farm. The dark dystopic feel in 1984 as mentioned is thrilling.

Reviews are kisses and alerts are hugs. I love being favourited as well because it makes me all warm and gooey inside.

*flutters eyes*


	2. Chapter 2: Still Water Runs Deep

**Chapter 2: Still Water Runs Deep**

They told him today was Monday and that he had ended up in the hospital after a bad case of diarrhoea. He recognised the stench of antiseptics in a heartbeat; knew he had spent a lot of time in those barren whitewashed walls.

He snorted. Couldn't they come up with a better lie?

Rukia cooked his food and ate the food he ate; if he actually was hospitalised because of that, where was Rukia?

It was an unfortunate habit he picked up after living with her for the past three months. A part of him was already used to her presence, not having her near when he was around somehow made him anxious.

The scientist in him scoffed at his dependence on her for human contact, whilst knowing full well she was just another agent they sent to spy on him.

Yet, the simple man in him worried because she had unwittingly left a part of herself indented in part of his daily life and routine and it was unthinkable if something should have happened to her.

So he said nothing, didn't want them to think that after they had his family murdered, his nurse was his new weakness; didn't want to give them any reason to think that Rukia was special in any way at all. He stared resolutely at the ceiling, trying desperately to recall the last thing he remembered before he ended up here.

There was dinner. And cake.

The smell of chocolate was a mesmerising scent lingering in the air. Green peas and something else and then, something happened.

He knew it was something important.

_Think goddamn it, think. _

Right, he remembered; there was a gun fired. Then, he searched his mind for clues but nothing came up- just a blank canvas, devoid of pictures and sounds.

Why did his head hurt so much? No, he urged himself to focus.

Who fired the shot?

Did it hit someone?

Was he shot?

He peered at the light blue hospital shift he had on and discretely examined himself for any signs of wound. There wasn't a single scratch on him, much less a bullet hole.

Was it all just a dream? No, he thought; everything was too real to be a dream.

Wait, he remembered looking into Rukia's eyes. Her eyes- eternally calm and bereft of emotions looking deep into his.

Did she fire the shot at him?

So what was going on?

He heard the creak of an opening door and turned his head towards the door.

_Speak of the devil._

It was Rukia- just as short as he remembered with her hair tied into a simple ponytail, wearing yet another sundress, but this time it was a bright happy shade of yellow.

He anxiously checked her for any signs of torture, bruises, a limp in her walk, but to his relief found none. She was fine, at least on the outside she was and he was so glad.

XXX

"What happened?" he asked her.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "You were admitted after a very serious case of food poisoning, don't you remember?"

He was not expecting that answer, but still he feigned calm, if she really was in league with them; he didn't want them to know that he knew about her real identity.

"Really then why weren't you admitted as well?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes and in a clipped tone told him, "you were admitted on a Sunday. You forgot to put the food into the fridge after I left."

"I forgot to put the food into the fridge," he reiterated dumbly.

What did he have for dinner on Saturday night?

Could she be telling the truth?

Was it all merely a hallucination or delirium- the aftereffects of a serious case of diarrhoea?

But it was all so real, how could it be just hallucinations of a feverish mind?

He told himself to remain calm.

"Can I have a glass of water please?" he asked instead, trying to change the topic and buy himself more time.

She walked over to his left and generously poured him a glass of water. It was soothing to his parched throat; he must have been out for quite a while, he thought while she settled herself by the foot of his bed. Her expression was pensive as she fiddled with the hem of her dress.

He backtracked, brown eyes narrowing in suspicion. "How did they find me?"

The petite woman was staring back at him with something akin to disbelief in her eyes. "You mean you don't remember?"

He shrugged, figured that there was no shame in admitting that especially if he really was a victim of severe dehydration.

"You called me, well;" she paused, "that is I don't think you meant to call me per se. My number was set as the first number on speed dial," and seeing his thinly veiled suspicion, she added, "No, you didn't put it in, I did- for emergencies."

He still wasn't completely buying the story.

XXX

"What did I say?"

She smirked, something that made her face crinkle and eyes shine.

"Mad mad things, nonsensical things," she remarked offhandedly, "you fed me some wild tale about a unicorn prancing around your room, walking on two legs and waving at you, making weird kissing noises while he was at it."

He shuddered at the mental image. "That was some random shit," he muttered, glass half-full of water still in hand.

She snorted as she rolled her eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. And then you told me that the unicorn had a gun and he was trying to kill you. Suffice to say I decided to check up on you and drove to your place in the middle of the night."

His nurse pursed her lips. "You scared the shit out of me when I saw you unconscious in the bathroom," she licked her lips and continued, staring him dead in the eyes as she did, "_**I **_drove you here."

He frowned, taking into account her side of the story while he maintained eye contact and pondered about her sincerity in the depth of those bottomless pools of blue ice.

Was she telling the truth or was this another elaborate ploy by them to gain his trust?

Was she in league with the government or was she an unwilling victim, brainwashed by them?

Was he really hallucinating or was it another cover-up?

XXX

He shut his weary eyes. Too many questions, too many possibilities, but there can only be one truth.

So what is the truth?

He sighed. "When can I be discharged?" he asked instead, too exhausted to deal with the multi-faceted possibilities.

"Tomorrow," came her gentle whisper, "now sleep. I'll keep watch."

He nodded; his eyelids suddenly heavy and the pillow underneath him felt unnaturally soft. He liked how her voice was this calm alto and not high-pitch or squeaky. She didn't sound chirpy either which was good because that would have reminded him of Yuzu.

He felt her small hands reach out for his and marvelled at how cold her hands were against his and to his surprise, he decided not to shrug them off. Her hands were so small, he thought as he tightened his grip on hers, small enough that he could break them if he wasn't careful.

_Like a china doll._

He wanted her to stay safe. She had been living with him for three months now, his caretaker, the distant fair-skinned woman who washed his laundry and cooked his food; the only human being that he interacted with.

You tend to pick up on certain things about your live-in nurse after living together for the past three months.

His nurse was a distant little thing who did not say much nor volunteer much information about her past. The good thing was that she didn't attempt to pry his either, she gave him plenty of room to pursue whatever it is that he wanted as long as he didn't leave the house and respected his privacy enough to let him take care of himself. He was grateful for that and gave her his well-deserved respect.

She kept herself well-groomed and was extremely punctual, but was extremely tight-lipped about the world outside their apartment. He didn't blame her. She was probably under orders not to divulge anything at all.

The dark-haired woman also liked to read extensively. He had seen her peering at his well-stocked book shelves longingly, but the look was always fleeting- never lasting for more than a second and she never approached him about lending or reading any of the books.

She was a proud little thing, he decided; either that or she simply did not take well to rejections.

On a few occasions that she was feeling charitable, she would let him have a say on the menu for the day. Her chocolate cake was absolutely divine and her cooking skills were applauded.

It was unfortunate that she was neither amused nor impressed at his honest mistakes of putting the dirty clothes into the garbage bin and his half-hearted attempts to cook supper.

She could be at times quite sarcastic with her comments and her remarks came with a bit of sting especially when she was cleaning up after him.

The memories made him smile- a rarity in these bleak and hard times.

They had rapport and she reminded him so strongly about his great-grandmother's china-wear collection that had been passed down from generations of Kurosaki women and by right, it should have been handed down to his two fraternal twin sisters.

During the raid, not a single piece of the collection was salvageable. It had been broken and smashed into bits and pieces and then swallowed by the flames as they laid waste to his family home and his sisters were never seen again.

He focused his gaze on her again. The diminutive nurse now had a hand holding on to his and another holding her new book. It seemed that flipping the pages with her left hand did not impede her at all and she kept silent as he drifted off to sleep.

She would be his atonement, regardless of the sacrifices he would have to make; he would save her- the woman caught up in his web of lies and duty.

If only for the sake of his lost innocence and those whom he had failed, he would save her.

Even if it meant forfeiting his life.

* * *

XXX

They decided to move him down south; far far away from all his bad memories. For Rukia, this was a move long overdue but she thought that Ishida personally wanted to keep him close by, still hoping that somehow he would recover one day against all odds.

_That man was so stubborn that God wouldn't want him as an enemy._

It was the highest compliment Ishida could give a man.

Ishida had said that Ichigo Kurosaki was a man born under a lucky star; somehow he had always managed to land on his feet even in the direst of situations. But then again, Ishida was a God-fearing catholic whose faith in God was what made him pull through, someone who prayed and attended mass and believed in miracles.

Despite his stoic appearance and callous attitude, Rukia believed that he had a heart of gold, a trait he shared with his beautiful wife- the willingness to believe the good in people and these were the people she trusted to lead the rebuilding of their civilisation.

Somehow even as parts of their heart died and blood came streaming freely down their faces, these brave souls managed to pick up the pieces and acclimatise themselves with the post-war world and flourish.

She wasn't one of them.

XXX

Even after the war, she never felt safe if there wasn't a knife hidden on her or a gun strapped to her thigh. She was a thing of the pre-war days, where silence was your armour and words your death, freedom was a bird; cageless and unobtainable and oppression was omnipresent.

She came from a world built on the fear of blood and iron, where every thought of yours was zealously concealed and hidden and your enemies are your neighbours.

Had she not risen up to the call of the rebellion, she would have spent the rest of her life in ignorance as an illiterate farm girl who would marry the son of a neighouring villager as soon as she was old enough to bear children.

A life filled with words and freedom was a life she could never have imagined for herself six years ago.

When Ishida invited her for a religious mass, she declined. She was an old dog and as the saying went, you can't teach old dogs new tricks. She didn't put much faith in the power of God as a result of growing up under the rule of the government.

Some picked up religion to cope with the aftermath; others like Ishida had it with them through the rough and bitter times, but Rukia was a pessimistic soul who would rather believe in her strength and those of her comrades than anything else.

She didn't fit in with the crowd at the post-war galas that partied and smiled to remind themselves that the world was over, she preferred the silence of cemeteries, content with the knowledge that she was alive and her enemies dead.

Besides, she had seen enough slaughter and madness to doubt the very existence of mercy, let alone of miracles and God. She was pretty sure that Ichigo was didn't believe in miracles either and it seemed that Ishida had finally conceded as well.

The world was not built on miracles and maybe it was time that everyone realised that and moved on.

XXX

They were moving to his summer home- his family home, Ishida had told her. It had been destroyed during a raid but had recently been rebuilt and completely remodelled, they doubted that he would remember or recognise anything at all.

Both of his sisters were still in the house when the raid happened and it was assumed that neither of them made it out alive. She agreed that it was a good thing to move him from the Capitol but she didn't like the idea of returning him to the place.

Karakura brought back to many memories for him and she had witnessed more than once the relapses that broke this proud man apart. With them so far removed from the Capitol, it would be hell if he suffered a relapse and she wasn't sure if he could handle another relapse with his current mental state.

He sat beside her in silence, twiddling the sweet wrapper idly.

She wondered what he was thinking about. When she first told him the news that they were going to Karakura, he was surprisingly calm and began packing almost immediately. He didn't seem excited but he didn't seem troubled either; didn't even bother to ask why.

"How much longer until we reach Karakura?" he asked her, eyes on the creased plastic.

She sighed. "Two more hours," she replied.

XXX

It was the first time she had seen him under the sun, breathing fresh air as the train whizzed pass the green foliage of the sunny countryside. His brown ochre glowed when the light hit them at the right angle and his hair was more brown than orange, she much preferred this than the fluorescent neon under artificial white lights that made his skin pale and his complexion sickly.

But he didn't smile, if anything he seemed tense; the closer they got to Karakura, the deeper he furrowed his eyebrows.

She decided that the first thing they do when they got to Karakura was to get him a dog or any pet for that matter.

He had too much time on his hands and too little interaction with any biological entities. Looking at numbers everyday would have made a normal man crazy and Rukia wasn't a genius or smart enough to read his mind and know his thoughts.

She had given up on Orwell, didn't want to risk another relapse- it was a lack of foresight on her part, but Shakespeare was not her cup of tea. She couldn't get past two pages of his 'thou' and 'thy' before slamming the old classic shut. Ichigo had shot her a look of contempt at that but she persisted in not touching any more of the Elizabethan classics.

Those were not for mere, ordinary folks like her.

So, she settled for something a bit simpler and chose Verne. She was down to her last chapter now but she didn't like reading in the train.

She surreptitiously glanced at him from the corner of the eyes as he fixed his gaze straight ahead.

They had left most of his books behind when they left. Ishida promised that he would send them after everything was settled but Ichigo insisted on packing all his Shakespeare and taking them with him personally. Rukia was fine either way as long as she didn't have to carry the load.

She tried to feign sleep because she didn't like the thick silence between them. They were the only two passengers in the carriage; Ishida had insisted on the tight security measures even with Rukia aboard.

Yet Ichigo's fidgeting annoyed her greatly. She frowned as the glaring sunlight forced her to move closer to the scientist.

XXX

"Are you happy to return to Karakura?" she finally asked; curious to hear his response, it had been the question plaguing her mind for quite a while.

He stopped tugging at the wrapper, eyes still peering at the wispy clouds overhead and sighed.

"Does it matter?"

She pushed onwards. "It does to me," she said.

He turned his gaze to her and she tried hard to search his face for clues to no avail. His expression was unreadable.

XXX

"No," he said after a long pause, "If it were up to me, I would set this whole place on fire and let it burn."

That was the end of their conversation.

* * *

**Hese's Corner:**

Another chapter for you all. Same question applies: what is the truth?

I love your PMs and reviews. Tell me what you think about the new chapter and what do you think is going to happen soon.

Your favourites and follows make my day. ;) Hope you guys enjoy this as well.


End file.
